


just don't believe the hype

by helloellie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, a smidge of underage drinking, frankly a criminal overusage of italics, i will not apologize for loving the idea of stiles in a band!!!, its not graphic though, minor recreational drug use, stiles jeep is basically its own character, stiles makes some questionable decisions, this is really just self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloellie/pseuds/helloellie
Summary: And when he stepped onstage, she felt pride sweep from the top of her head down her body, to her fingers and her toes. He always had a natural draw to him, but when he was onstage it was magnified. It was like she couldn’t take her eyes off him, and she knew nobody else could either.Lydia wanted to feel possessive. She wanted to tell everyone in the room, as his eyes were hooded and his hands were moving deftly on the guitar and his lips were pressed against the microphone, that they had never felt those lips against their temple or those hands in their hair. She wanted to, but she couldn’t because she watched him walk back to the drum set and scream the words to their song with a smile on his face and she knew this was him.It wasn’t like Stiles and Lydia were together. They weren’t. But he was hers – her person, her Stiles.//or, Stiles is in a band.
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	just don't believe the hype

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i hope everyone is staying safe and taking care of themselves during this pandemic!
> 
> this is my first ao3 fic and frankly my first (completed) teen wolf fic - anyone else get a burst of creativity during isolation? the universe straight up did not want me to finish this because half way through writing, the shift key on my laptop broke and then my boyfriend and i broke up and i did nothing but watch the jonas brothers doc for a week straight to cope. 
> 
> but alas, five months and one heavy bout of writers block later, we're finally here! this fic and the title are based off the song 'the hype' by twenty one pilots, but i picture stiles' band to have a kind of catfish and the bottlemen / wallows type of vibe, if that makes sense :) 
> 
> happy reading!

_but you don't get thick skin without getting burnt_

In hindsight, Lydia knew things had changed when he had retired the Jeep to his father’s garage in exchange for a newer, decidedly more expensive Tesla Model X.  _ I wanted to try out electric _ , he had said.  _ Besides, I got sick of explaining to the mechanic why I kept that glorified piece of junk around for so long. _

She never reminded him that this Jeep had picked her up countless times from her ex-boyfriend's house after every explosive fight that left her sobbing beyond words. She didn’t remind him of the times they had road tripped down the Pacific Coast Highway just because they were bored on a Saturday, her hand making waves outside the passenger side window as she gazed towards the ocean. She didn’t remind him of the time he held her in the backseat two days after her best friend was murdered in a robbery gone wrong, their tears mixing together as he rested his forehead on hers. She didn’t remind him of the time his Jeep had broken down on the way to their senior prom, when he played some random emo whiney music at top volume from the still-working speakers and they slow danced for hours on a backroad, less than two miles away from the school. She didn’t remind him of the road trip she, Scott and Stiles took the day after graduation to the Oregon coast because they couldn’t sit in that town any longer, feeling like  _ she should be here _ . 

She didn’t remind him of any of  that. If he didn’t remember, she figured, it was already too late. That dimpled, freckled boy that sat in the drivers’ seat had been retired to his father’s garage with the Jeep and the man that sat in the Tesla was not him. He was not her Stiles. 

***

Lydia had always known Stiles was a talented musician. From an early age, his hands always needed to be  _ doing something _ , so naturally his mother and father had put him in every sport they could think of. When it was clear his hand-eye coordination definitely did not match the incessant energy he stored, they rerouted their efforts to music. Guitar, piano, drums – anything he could get his hands on, he was gifted at. Quickly, he formed a band with a few of the other band kids and at first, everyone took it with a grain of salt; how many kids  _ hadn’t  _ formed a band with their friends at a young age? But after their eighth-grade talent show, where they blew away not only students but faculty with their rendition of  _ Wonderwall _ , they became Bonafide celebrities in Beacon Hills. 

(Stiles sometimes played unfinished original songs to Lydia.)

(She always loved them.)

But, of course, since it was  _ Stiles,  _ he never bragged, he was never obtrusive with his talent; he spent his time quietly plucking his guitar strings in the band room every morning before school, jotting lyrics in the special notebook that he kept at the bottom of his backpack, where only few people knew of its existence. 

Lydia didn’t know how she became one of those people in his life. He had a demeanor that attracted everyone around him – somehow, his neurosis and flailing limbs and sarcastic one-liners had enamored Beacon Hills High School because you couldn’t find a single person that had anything bad to say about Stiles Stilinski. She had also commandeered attention, though not nearly in the same way. She was intimidating, despite standing at only five foot two. Her long red hair had always trailed behind her as she took deliberate steps down the hallways, heels tapping on the tiled floor, her green eyes trained straight ahead of her. 

His smile and dimples and quirks had broken down her icy exterior, leaving remnants of the walls she had built around herself when her father decided to pack up and leave her family. It seemed not even she was immune to his charm. 

Slowly, he wormed his way into her life and became one of the most important people in it – being her person she could always call when she fought with Jackson, her person she called when she was drunk outside a random house and she couldn’t trust herself to get home, her person that waited by her locker as she took her books out, smiling as she spoke and laughing with her as they walked down the halls. He was her person. 

In the four years they had been friends, she learned to read him like a book. That's how she knew he’d received good news one afternoon as they were studying at their favorite table at Beacon Hills Beans and Brew. They were both finishing up their freshman year at Stanford together, struggling to push through the final days of their exam period. 

Lydia looked up from her Physics book with eyebrows raised. “Good news?” She asked, nodding towards his phone, at which he was staring with furrowed brows. 

“Yeah, I think so.” He scratched the side of his face, eyes never leaving the screen.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, Patrick just texted me saying that The Crowd is one of the openers at a show in the Anaheim House of Blues next week.” It was then he looked up, and she noticed the sparkle in his eyes was palpable. His band, The Crowd, for which he played lead guitar and occasionally lent his vocals, had picked up a manager two months ago and had been booking small gigs here and there. But playing the House of Blues was their biggest show yet – a far step above the San Fransisco gastro-pubs they required special permission to play in as baby-faced nineteen-year olds. 

“Stiles!” She dropped her pencil to the table. “That’s fantastic!” 

He gave her a dimpled smile and put his phone back down, going back to his homework. Lydia’s eyes followed his, all the way back down to the notes he was copying from his Intro to Sociology textbook. 

“What, that’s it? No celebration?” She asked. 

He shrugged, eyes still combing his textbook. “I don't know,” he allowed. “It’s exciting, but it’s just another gig.” It was quiet for a moment, and for that time she thought he really wasn’t going to say anything else, that he  was just going to leave it at that and not leave himself room for celebration. 

“Besides,” Stiles looked up. “It’s on a school night. Can’t be out past curfew.” 

She let out a chuckle at that.

***

The day of the show, they drove his Jeep to Anaheim. It shook in a way that made her nervous any time they reached speeds past 60 mph, but the windows were down and the radio was blasting and Stiles and Scott were singing along too loud to some Yellowcard song that screams early 2000s and she thought maybe the shaking was okay. 

She helped him with his wardrobe after they soundcheck, telling him that his usual flannel and khakis were not going to be impressing anyone in the House of Blues. She threw a slightly oversized short sleeve at him with some black jeans, thinking that if anything, he'd look edgy. 

She looked over at him. He was sniffing his armpits, muttering about deodorant. 

Soon after, her and Scott went to find Kira and Malia in the crowd, silently griping about the truly shitty first opener they had to watch before they could cheer on their friend. After what felt like an eternity of songs about wanting to  _ get out of this town,  _ Lydia, Scott and Kira gripped each other's hands as the watched the decal on the front of the drums change to the familiar logo they had seen in Stiles’ garage the last six years. 

And when he stepped onstage, she felt pride sweep from the top of her head down her body, to her fingers and her toes. He always had a natural draw to him, but when he was onstage it was magnified. It was like she couldn’t take her eyes off him, and she knew nobody else could either. 

Lydia wanted to feel possessive. She wanted to tell everyone in the room, as his eyes were hooded and his hands were moving deftly on the guitar and his lips were pressed against the microphone, that they had never felt those lips against their temple or those hands in their hair. She wanted to, but she couldn’t because she watched him walk back to the  drum set and scream the words to their song with a smile on his face and she knew this was  _ him _ . 

It wasn’t like Stiles and Lydia were together. They weren’t. But he was hers – her person, her  _ Stiles _ . 

When the show was over and Stiles had successfully charmed the entire audience, he found them at the stage door and enveloped each of them into a huge bear hug.n the moment, Lydia didn’t even care that his sweat stained chest was pressed right up against her silk camisole, figuring she has some seltzer at home that can get the stain out. She was just so damn  _ proud _ that he had the entire crowd bouncing on their heels, hands in the air with smiles on their faces. 

“Dude,” Scott yelled with a smile reaching both sides of his face. “That was amazing!” Stiles just waved his hands around and looked down at his shoes. It was bizarre, how he could go from radiating confidence on stage to bashfully accepting compliments less than twenty minutes later. “Seriously Stiles, everyone loved it.” His best friend continued. 

“Honestly, I think people liked it more than main act.” Kira interjected. 

“That wouldn’t be very hard. They blew.” Malia rolled her eyes. Lydia nervously looked around the alley, hoping no members of the main act were out here to hear her friends bash on them so brazenly. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Now you guys are just being ridiculous.” He scoffed, but Lydia could still see the twinkle in his eyes. He made eye contact with her and grinned, giving  her an almost imperceptible wink and she blushes. Leave it to Stiles Stilinski to turn Lydia Martin, certified ice queen and player-of-hard-to-get, into a flustered mess. 

Scott, somehow being able to know what everyone is feeling at any given time, gave them a knowing look. Stiles and Lydia both cough and avert their gaze to their other friends. 

It’s not like Lydia and Stiles had been dancing around a relationship since the last semester of senior year, but they kind of have. Both will vehemently deny it, saying that  _ no guys, we’re just friends _ . But not-so-deep down, they knew that wasn’t true. It was exactly the reason that Stiles had not dated anyone after Malia, and the reason Lydia had fended off the guys in her MATH51 class. And really, she was there to learn linear algebra, multivariable calculus and their modern applications,  _ not _ flirt with boys. 

Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew she was saving it for Stiles. She also knew he felt that way too. But they also knew that the moment they admitted it to each other, it would be real; it would be it for them, they were It for each other. 

It could be why they were apprehensive – what they had was good. As the saying goes, don’t fix what isn’t broken, right? 

“Stiles,” his drummer, Elliot, poked his head out the door, effectively ending her reverie of what ifs. “Patrick says that a representative from Fueled by Ramen was here and she wants to talk to us!” He held the door open long enough for Stiles to stick his hand in, propping it open for the time being.

“I’ll see you guys at the hotel afterwards?” He asked their group, but  really, he was only looking at Lydia. She nodded, biting her lip. She didn’t have to say good luck to him, because she knew he saw it in her eyes. 

With one last grin to them, he went back inside the venue.

***

A week later they’re back in Beacon Hills, freshly done with finals at UC Davis, Stanford, Berkeley, and Foothill College and Stiles having freshly penned a record deal with his band. To celebrate, Scott had decided to throw a party in his childhood home in honor of his best friend about to make it to the big leagues. 

With their respective friends from school, Stiles’ bandmates and their friends, and Malia’s boyfriend from college, what was initially going to be a small get together turned into a fairly large  rager . Melissa had, thankfully, ignored the various bottles of alcohol in conspicuous parts of the house, the chase and the jungle juice in the fridge. She also didn’t question when Scott and Stiles unfolded a table in the middle of the dining room, and came home with three bags of red solo cups, but she did mention all the Hell that would be paid if any one of them ended up in the hospital during her shift.

By 11 o’clock at night, the party was in full swing. Malia and her boyfriend were absolutely decimating Scott and Kira at beer pong and the kid that took over Scott’s position as captain of the lacrosse team once they graduated, Liam, was no doubt trying to impress a girl on the couch by taking her to a college party. Lydia, holding her solo cup up to her mouth, scanned her eyes across the crowded living space of the McCall house, searching for the man of the hour. 

Her eyes landed on him, holding court in the dining room with some of his buddies from Stanford. She recognized them, having sat in his common room next to him on the couch, thighs pressing together as she watched them play video games, always invariably ending in an intense game of Super Smash Bros that usually results in one of them furiously throwing down their controller and threatening to flip the table their feet were rested on. 

(She usually ignored the whispers wondering her and Stiles’ relationship status.)

(Stiles usually did too, until one day his lead singer Jeremy asked Stiles if he could ask her out, and Stiles promptly smacked him upside the head.)

Stiles finally made eye contact with Lydia, and with a pat on Elliot’s back, he made his way over to Lydia. 

Once he reached her, he held out his cup to her for a  cheers , after which he came around next to her to rest his back against the same wall she was leaning on. “Great turn out, huh?” He nodded to the living room.

“Well, everyone’s pretty proud of you.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, only to find that he was already looking right at her. 

He took a long sip of whatever was in his cup. “Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows at her, and she nodded. “Well, what do you think?” He asked. 

“Come on, Stiles, I think you already know what I think.” 

“Do I?” Another sip of his drink. The way he was looking at her made her feel as though the subject was no longer the party turn out. But the music was loud, she was definitely very tipsy, and she’s fairly certain she saw him on the deck earlier smoking with his bandmates so she knows now is  _ not  _ the time to have this conversation. 

So, she turned to him, pointing at his cup instead. “What’re you drinking?” 

He held it above his head. “Would you believe me if I said water?” 

“Absolutely not.” She smirked. “Let’s not forget that I saw you, not ten minutes ago, coming from the balcony, shoving what I can only imagine to be the last bit of a joint into your pocket and,” she searched both of his eyes with a mock inquisitive stare. “Am I imagining it or are your eyes very red?” She laughed as he rolled his eyes, trying very hard to keep a smile off his own face. 

“Alright, I’ll have you know that weed is legal in California.”

“Not for nineteen-year-olds.” She hid her smile by taking a drink of her vodka soda. 

He brings his own cup to his lips and smiled. “If you must know, I’m drinking beer.”

“Domestic or foreign?”

He gasped and held his free hand to his heart. “I’m wounded you even have to ask. You should know me well enough to know that its  _ craft _ beer Lydia. None of that domestic-foreign nonsense.” 

Lydia snorted, having remembered the day he realized that Bud Light was not, indeed, the end-all-be-all of beers and confidently ventured into the world of sours and wheat ales. She can vividly recall them walking through the grocery store, summer after graduation, when he spotted the craft beer section. 

_ Blackberry flavored beer, Lydia! _ He had said.  _ What an incredible world we live in _ .

“Come on,” he reached his hand out to hers. “I want to dance.” Stiles started pulling her to the make-shift dance floor in the living room as some Drake song blares from the speakers. 

She let herself follow him, but not without griping, “So then dance.” 

He leveled a stare at her, downing the remainder of his drink in one gulp, discarding the empty cup into the garbage and placing his hands on her waist. She felt a warmth flow through her body that she was certain had nothing to do with the alcohol. “I want to dance with you.” 

Having essentially been rendered speechless by the seriousness of his words, Lydia nodded wordlessly and finished the last sip of her drink and wrapped her arms around his neck. They stayed like that for a few songs, his hands resting only on her hips, her hands playing with the short hair on the top of his neck and it never strayed too far away from the safe zone she set up for herself when it comes to Stiles.

But then she looked up and his eyes were gazing down at her with the most intense affection and she couldn’t bring herself to look away. She couldn’t bring herself to look away either when he lowered his head down to rest his forehead on hers, nor when he bridged the gap between them and gently brushed his lips against hers, so soft it was barely there. 

And then they were kissing, and the noise, the people around them were not there. It was just the two of them, Stiles and Lydia, in the middle of the dance floor, completely entangled in each other. 

When he pulled back a moment later, she smiled slightly and brought one hand down from around his neck to touch her lips. They were tingling, and her whole body felt weightless. The music came back, the people around her reappeared, and she suddenly felt extremely overwhelmed. Taking a step back, she turned and weaved her way through the crowd towards the deck, leaving Stiles standing, gob smacked, in the place where he just kissed her. 

She slid the glass door open as quickly as she could, shutting it immediately behind her and taking a deep breath of the evening air. Were they really doing this now? Were they really taking the leap after a week chalk full of adrenaline, after each of them were several drinks in and their inhibitions were severely hindered? Were they just subconsciously waiting for a situation like this, where ‘what ifs’ and over-rationalization no longer took the reins? 

Before she could adequately answer those questions herself, she heard the door open behind her. She didn’t need to turn around – she knew he would follow her out eventually. 

“Well,” he sighed, plopping himself down on the steps of the deck next to her. “That’s not exactly the reaction I hoped for when I finally kissed the girl that I’ve been in love with for thirteen years.” 

She noticed that he had another full red solo cup in hand and huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly the reaction I hoped to give you when you did.” 

“What reaction did you hope to give?” She had no answer to that, so she looked down at her hands, fiddling with her ring. He had given it to her the birthday after Allison had passed – it was a simple silver band engraved with an arrow. She never took it off. Allison Argent: archer, best friend, gone too soon. 

Stiles Stilinski: anchor, best friend, something more. 

“Are we really going to do this now?” She finally asked, looking up at him. He was staring at her fingers, still twisting the ring around her finger. 

“Do what?”

“This. Us.” She gestured between the two of them. Sighing, Stiles leans back on his hands. “Stiles, you’re going to LA for the summer to record an album. You’re about to be playing shows, going on tour,” she looked down. “Meeting girls.” Her voice got considerably quieter and she heard Stiles chuckle a little, which was frustrating. “I’m serious. Do you think this is the best time for us?”

Despite his clear disbelief in her statement, she stood by it. She wasn’t an idiot – she knew bands had groupies,  _ especially _ the younger ones. She knew girls with supermodel bodies and long legs were going to eat them up and Lydia was never the jealous type, but she knew she represented his past and she wasn’t sure how long he was going to want her to be his future. She didn’t want to put her heart on the line for this boy that’s so  _ different _ from anything she’s ever known just to watch it fizzle away. 

Not to mention the distance. 

Eventually, with a more determined look on his face, Stiles sat up and took her hand in his, the inside of his finger purposefully rubbing on the ring. “Lydia.” He tilted her chin up so she was looking into his eyes. “There is never going to be a perfect time for us. We spent the last two years waiting for the perfect time and it never came.” He smiled. “So yeah, maybe the timing sucks. Yeah, maybe I’m about to go spend three months on the other side of the state and we’re only going to have about four days of time together before I have to get on that plane.” His face softened as he took a deep breath. “But Lydia I am  _ so sick _ of wasting time waiting for that perfect moment when all I really want is to be with you.”

She was thankful he wasn’t an inch closer to her, because he would definitely be able to hear her heart beating, feeling so full she was sure it was going to fly out of her chest and land right into the palm of his hands. But in all honesty, her heart had been in the palms of his hands for three years now. Instead, she searched his eyes and smiled, feeling content and fluttery and love drunk.

“Wow,” she sighed dramatically. “That was gross, Stiles.” 

He breathed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

“Seriously, some of your most  _ disgusting _ work, I’d have to say.” He nodded with a smile on his face and looked forwards. “And I’ve heard your earlier, unreleased love songs.” 

They banter jovially, and it reminded Lydia of simpler times when they would drive to school in the mornings in junior year, exchanging good-natured jibes at one another, while Scott and Allison egged them on from the backseat. It reminded her that they have an ease to one another, where their presence in each other's lives comes so naturally.  _ Nothing’s changed _ , she thought. 

But then she looked down at their hands, fingers intertwined and his thumb running over the back of her hand as they continue their jokes, and she knows that’s not true.  _ Everything’s changed _ . 

***

The day he left for Los  Angeles, she drove to his house to help him pack up the Jeep. It was bittersweet when he loaded the last suitcase, haphazardly shoving his guitar case on top of everything and closed the trunk. 

It was a warm day in mid-June and the tree covering part of his driveway was giving them enough shade to look at each other without squinting from the sun. Lydia was grateful – she wanted to memorize his face, the placement of his moles and the slope of his nose, before he got in his Jeep and drove away. Realistically, she knew that she was going to see him soon enough, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to inevitably change. That soon, everyone else in the world was going to memorize the placement of his moles and the slope of his nose too. 

In a desperate attempt to lighten the thickness in her heart, she smirked. “You sure you’re going to have the attention span to last a six hour drive alone?”

Rather than smirking back, he gave a genuine smile and rested his forearms on her shoulders, interlocking his fingers behind her head. “Oh yeah, I have about a dozen true crime podcasts downloaded, so I’m all set.”

Lydia nodded solemnly. “Nothing like the sick, twisted world of cold-blooded murderers to maintain your attention.”

“Not  _ just _ cold-blooded killers. Some are crimes of  _ passion _ , Lydia.” 

Granting him a huff of a laugh, she wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging him closer and gazing at him. Him – in his stupid jeans and band tee, standing in front of his ancient Jeep, staring down at her and giving her a grin that is so quintessentially Stiles. This is the boy she loved. 

“Knock ‘ em dead, Stilinski.” 

He took one of his arms away from behind her neck to salute her. “Yes ma’am.” 

He started unwinding himself from her, but as he turned around, she grabbed his wrist. “Just,” she whispered, moving her hands to grip his shirt right where his collarbone is. “Just don’t change too much, okay? I like the boy I fell in love with.” She bit her lip at her words. It had to be a record; declarations of love four days into an official relationship. But they both knew that it had been a long time coming, and they’ve loved each other for long before they became a couple. So. Not too out of the realm of possibility. 

He studied her eyes, his face softening, and arms pulling her into hug. “I promise.” He punctuated his words with a kiss on the forehead, then resting his cheek on the top of her head. 

Five minutes later, she was standing in the driveway, the Sheriff’s arm around her shoulders, waving to Stiles as he pulled out of the driveway. Lydia smiled as she remembered what he said to her just as his dad was coming out of the house. 

“I love you too, Lydia.” 

***

He kept his promise at first. 

Three weeks after he left Beacon Hills, he invited her down to LA, saying he could finally take a weekend off. They had kept in close contact,  FaceTiming each other every night – sometimes him from the studio, where he would play her partially-produced versions of the songs he wrote in his bedroom while they were supposed to be studying, Lydia listening to him softly hum melodies and sing lyrics. 

The only changes she noticed about Stiles  Stilinksi in the three weeks that she had not seen him were his noticeably tanner skin and hair that now flopped against his forehead in soft waves, rather than styled upwards. But as he made eye contact with her, walking out of the security door in the airport, he held up a small paper sign that said  _ Lydia Martin _ in his illegible chicken scratch, she knew his physical transformations were just that. 

“Nice hair,” she said in lieu of a greeting, as he pulled her into a bear hug. 

When he released her, he ran a hand through his hair and smiled. “I ran out of hair gel three days ago and I’ve literally not had any time to get some.” He rested his arm around her, the other coming to take the carry-on bag she brought, telling her about how hard the record label is pushing them to finish this album by the end of August, but also about how much fun they’re having writing and recording the album in their producer’s house in the Hills. 

“He’s got a pool and a trampoline in his house, Lydia.” He exclaimed, earning the attention of a few passers-by as they head into the airports  parkade . “And a recording studio in his  _ garage _ . Yesterday Elliot recorded the drum track in one take and we did cannon-balls off the roof to celebrate.” 

She let him continue on, smiling softly as they approached the Jeep. His rhapsody of admiration for his producer’s house continued until about halfway to his downtown LA apartment. At that point, he switched to loudly singing along to a Bowling for Soup song that had him so enthralled, the car behind him honked to remind him to, in fact, go at a green light. Lydia felt a bit of deja-vu, because she swore that exact scene had played out numerous times for him. 

“Hey Stiles,” Lydia interrupted before he could launch into a frankly sub-par rendition of Misery Business. “You should keep the hair.” 

Keeping his eyes on the road, he grinned a little. “Yeah?” Lydia just nodded and he hummed. “Lydia Martin thinks I’m attractive.”

“Alright.”

“She loves me and wants to kiss me all the time and be my girlfriend and likes my floppy hair.” He sang. 

“I will not hesitate to throw myself out of this car, Stiles Stilinski, so help me god.” She threatened. 

“I know you would.”

During the weekend she was there, he played her the song they were planning to release as their first single the next week, he drove her to his favorite taco places, and on her last day they drove out to Malibu – the official reason being they wanted to compare how much warmer the water was in Southern California than it was back in NorCal, but they both knew that was just an excuse to take a painfully cliched long walk on the beach. 

Lydia decided that they were allowed to be gross. She gave herself a pass because they waited two years for each other and damn it, if she wanted to take a walk on the beach with her boyfriend during a far too short visit then she was  _ going to do it _ . 

(And when Stiles let go of her hand to run in barefoot circles around her, arms spread eagle like an airplane, she was going to giggle far too obnoxiously. Such was life.)

And not two days after she returned to Beacon Hills, he Facetimed her and Scott as they were lounging by her pool to tell them that  _ oh my god you  _ _ guys, our _ _ song is on the top of the alternative charts _ . They celebrated and laughed and sang way too loud along with the song and then Stiles announced that they were all going to do celebratory shots. 

“To celebrate of course.” He declared as he poured his tequila into a Yoda shot  glass she got him for Christmas last year. 

One shot turned to two, which turned to three, which turned to the three of them slightly tipsy – Stiles enough to grab his acoustic and loudly freestyle with Scott – and Lydia just stared at the boy’s face on her phone screen, all smiley and jubilant in his plaid pajama pants and  _ damn _ . 

She loved him so much. 

***

The changes started happening slowly. 

So slowly that at first, Lydia didn’t realize it was happening. 

It started on her fourth visit; instead of picking her up in the Jeep, as she was more than used to, Stiles led her to a newer model Audi. She looked at him quizzically. “Yeah, Jeep’s in the shop and the label set me up with this baby.” He tapped on the hood twice, but that action felt disingenuous when it was on anything but his Jeep. “And it’s not so bad, you know. I might keep her around for a bit.” He continued, unlocking the car door with a push of a button. It pushed her buttons. 

She got in anyways, inspecting the inside. It was darker than she was used to, with black leather seats and a black console. Stiles got in the front seat, buckling in his seatbelt in the process. He started the car, also with a push of a button and Lydia felt a surge of annoyance – it was easier than starting the car with a screwdriver, sure, but it didn’t feel right. 

“And Lydia look,” he exclaimed, turning a knob on the  center console. “Functioning air conditioning!”

She managed a smile as he pulled out of the parking lot, using the  backup camera rather than putting his arm on the passenger seat headrest to look out the back window. 

She ignored him when he said he had been looking around for some new cars, ones that he could drive through LA traffic with confidence it wouldn’t break down. Maybe electric, he said. 

Lydia distinctly remembered, pulled over on the side of the road Stiles leaned over the hood of the Jeep with a wrench in his hand, saying “I will never abandon this Jeep.” But as Lydia looked over at the  center console with a distinct lack of police scanner and Stiles’ phone connected to the Bluetooth, she couldn’t help feeling like he already had. 

***

She noticed again at the beginning of August, as she was Facetiming Stiles and starting to pack again for university. He said it so fast, between telling her about the tour they were about to finalize and that their single had sold half a million copies. 

“Wait, what did you say?”

“Our single sold 500,000 copies?”

“No, before that.” Her undivided attention was now given to her phone, watching his face as his eyebrows furrowed. 

“I’m not coming back to Stanford in September.” He shrugged. Sensing her confusion, his face softened. “Lydia, we’re about to be the openers on a nation-wide tour. We’re so close to finishing the album – I can’t go back to school. Not when my career is finally taking off.” 

She understood, of course she did. Frankly she saw it coming – she would have been surprised if he did come back. Lydia just didn’t expect him to tell her on a Facetime call, glossing over its importance. Not only was he not returning to Stanford with her, it meant he was staying in LA. It meant months more of long-distance.

Lydia couldn’t blame them for being offered to open for an extremely successful band during the American leg of their tour. She  certainty couldn’t begrudge him for playing arena shows every night in the hopes of building a loyal fan base. She just couldn’t have guessed the kind of toll it would take on her to shake up the routine they had perfected over the years. 

She had a headache. 

“Yeah, I know Stiles.” She sighed. “Listen, I’m really tired and I think I’m just going to turn in early.” She forced a smile.

“Lydia wait-”

“Goodnight Stiles.” Pressing the red button at the bottom of her screen, she realized she was biting her lip so hard that she drew blood. She brought her hand to her lip and felt the pool of blood on the surface of her lips, tasting the metallic flavor as some dripped into her mouth.

And then Lydia did something she hadn’t done in years – she sat on the bed and cried into her hands. 

***

Lydia unpacked her belongings in her new dorm, ignoring the inkling in her chest that told her that the last time she did this, he was here with her, helping her unpack the boxes and chuckling slightly when he got to the box with her underwear in it, promptly shutting up when she snatched the box to her body. 

Sighing, she reached further into the box and pulled out a picture frame – Lydia smiled as she gazed on the four smiling faces in the photo. Scott’s mom had taken it the first day of junior year and it had always made her laugh how awkward Allison and Scott had looked, still reeling from their amicable break up two months before. Her gaze landed on herself and Stiles, right in the middle of the group, his arm comfortably and casually around her shoulders; her own eyes were amused, looking over to Scott and mid-laugh at how embarrassed he had been that his mom, upon Stiles’ arrival with Allison and Lydia, had declared it was picture time. 

It was during the summer before junior year that her and Stiles had developed this easiness that she had soon grown accustomed to. What initially was occasional calls to the other to ensure their respective best friends were handling their break up reasonably became calls just to chat which became drives out to the beach, which became days spent on the back roads with Stiles’ hands just an inch away from her hips teaching her to skateboard.

She wasn’t sure when she realized he became her closest friend. When Scott had started dating Allison in sophomore year, he had told her that  _ according to the transitive property, Lydia, we are now friends too _ . She supposed that was true, but his crush on her was distracting and she frankly felt uncomfortable being put on a  pedestal , the way it felt like he did. 

But sometime during the summer, that distracting crush had dissipated and she felt comfortable enough to call him when Jackson kicked her out of his house after a fight or when she went to a party and had too much to drink. She told herself she needed a friend since Allison had left for France. 

And it all culminated in this picture – Lydia set it down on her bedside table and laid on her bed, still looking at it. She was pretty sure that was the happiest she had ever been. For once, she was going into a school year with not only a best friend, but a  _ group  _ of them. And then less than a month before Christmas, their group was roughly cut from four to three and it all felt so unfair. 

Lydia was also pretty sure this was the last photo they all had together. She felt the familiar tugs of her heart breaking, eerily reminiscent of her funeral, where the pain in Lydia’s chest prevented her from doing anything but staring at the closed casket  containing her best friend. She didn’t cry until she got home and took one look at the same picture sitting on her desk and then cried until the sharp pain in her chest was a dull, deep ache. 

She was going into junior year again, but Allison wasn’t there.

Feeling a wave of nostalgia and longing for her best friend, she took her phone off its charger and called Stiles. 

He answered on the sixth ring, right before she was about to hang up. 

“Hey Lydia,” he breathed. Wherever he was, it was loud. And he sounded distracted. 

“Stiles,” she sniffed. “I just saw the picture we took at the beginning of junior year and I wasn’t expecting it but it  _ hurts _ again and I -”

“Lydia, I’m about to go on stage, can we do this later tonight?” She remembered he was in Denver tonight. She glanced at her clock. 5:30pm, California time. He wasn’t due on stage for another half hour. 

“Yeah sure. Later.” She knew there wasn’t going to be a later, not tonight. Her voice was void from emotion, but if he heard it, he didn’t acknowledge it. 

“Great thanks, Lydia.” She ignored the voice that sounded distinctly female in the background before he hung up, just as she ignored the way he hung up on her before she could say anything. She also ignored the way her heart went from the dull ache from the loss of her best friend to shattering at the realization she was losing him, too. 

And for the second time in two months, Lydia cried. 

***

She was right; there wasn’t a later that night. She skipped dinner that day and went to bed at 8pm, clutching the picture frame as she dreamt about when he would drive them to school in junior year, exchanging good-natured jibes at one another, while Scott and Allison egged them on from the backseat. 

***

He sent her flowers two days after the fact. Yellow  daffodils, accompanied by a note reading  _ I’m sorry, I’m such an ass. I promise I’ll make it up to you – Love, Stiles _ . 

Yellow daffodils, symbolizing rebirth and forgiveness. Often used to beg a loved one for forgiveness. 

She answered him when he called next, thanking him for the flowers and accepting his apology. 

Yellow daffodil – also known as the Narcissus flower, stemming from the Greek myth of Narcissus, who loved himself so much he turned into a flower. 

***

He was recognized on the street more. The first time, as they walked around San Francisco during a weekend he had off mid-October, took Lydia by surprise. A girl, probably around 17 or 18, approached Stiles and Lydia as they walked out of  Sightglass Coffee. 

Stunned, Lydia nodded wordlessly when the girl asked her to take the picture. She knew she wasn’t being very personable – and Lydia  _ always _ prided herself on her ability to make a good first impression – but she was distracted by her boyfriend putting his arm around this girl he doesn’t even  _ know  _ and giving the camera his best smile. 

With her own smile, she handed back the girl’s phone. 

“You’re Lydia Martin, right?” She asked, and Lydia looked at Stiles with a panic. He just shrugged. “You TA my friend’s class at Stanford. She told me she was pretty sure Stiles Stilinski’s girlfriend was her TA.” She punctuated that with a laugh that was most definitely meant to be friendly, but Lydia just felt uncomfortable.

Not at the girl, because she was sweet, bidding both of them goodbye as she walked into the coffee  shop they had just left, but because she didn’t like being known as someone’s  _ something _ . It felt as though the life she had before this was gone – how she felt so disconnected from the boy that waited at her locker every day after third period in senior year. She felt disconnected from this boy that loved Beacon Hills and his Jeep and his dad and his best friends. 

Stiles held himself differently now. He ditched his flannels, dark Ray-Ban sunglasses sitting on his nose and a sway in his step, almost as if he was preparing for someone to stop them – almost as if he was  _ expecting  _ someone to.

“Hey,” Lydia said gently, as his hand held hers. (He didn’t interlock their fingers like he normally did, not that it mattered.) “Have you spoken to Malia or Kira recently?” 

“Nah, but I’m sure they understand.” Stiles shrugged.  Never mind that they were the two newest additions to their friend group, or that the latter is in a relationship with his best friend. She was certain they  _ didn’t  _ understand. 

But as they sat down at their table for lunch, and he showed her pictures of his brand-new Tesla, she had a feeling that, in his eyes, it didn’t even matter. 

***

Allison had died on November 24 th , 2012. She had been in a convenience store, picking up some candies on the way to Lydia’s house, where they were planning on studying together. A man, armed with a machete and high on bath salts, came into the store looking for some quick cash. 

The store  clerk had said it happened so fast – the guy ran into the store and raised the knife above his head and Allison, ever the hero, saw an opportunity to wrestle the knife out of the guys hand. 

Lydia looked it up – with the wound Allison had, it would have taken her less than a minute to bleed out. Less than a minute for her best friend to be gone forever. 

The guy was doing 25 to life in a federal prison – Lydia would rather have her best friend back than for two lives to be lost. 

Every November 24 th since, Lydia, Scott, and Stiles gathered in Scott’s room and passed a bottle of wine between the three of them. On the second anniversary of her death, they told stories about Allison and laughed through their tears. The first anniversary, they got drunk together in silence. 

That year, Lydia checked his tour schedule, and by some grace of God, he was to perform in San Francisco the night before and he had that particular night off.

She even double checked with him, asking if he could come to Scott’s house on November 24 th . 

“Of course, Lydia.” He had said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She knew she heard sincerity there. 

But then it was November 24 th and he wasn’t there in Scott’s room. Scott called, and called but he never answered. So, they sat face to face on his bed, passing the red wine between the two of them. When the bottle was topped off and they were both kind of drunk, they cried into each other’s arms. 

In the midst of her sobs, she thought she said, “How could he, Scott?” 

Scott shushed her, rubbing her back as she sobbed into his shoulder. Lydia thought she felt a tear fall onto her neck, and Scott’s hand came up to quickly brush it off his cheek. Lydia knew that, while she was the one who said it, it was on both of their minds.

_ How could he? _

***

She made the decision the next morning, after taking some painkillers for her wine-hangover, to drive into the city to his hotel. Lydia felt as though she moved on autopilot as she got ready for the two-hour drive from Beacon Hills to San Francisco, her mind alternating from fury to void back to fury. 

The band’s security, recognizing her, led her up the elevator and to Stiles’ room. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. 

She was expecting him to answer the door with tear stained cheeks, apologizing profusely for breaking her heart  _ and _ Scott’s. She expected him to apologize for the way he had been acting the past few months – for neglecting her, for neglecting Scott, for ignoring Kira and Malia, for not calling his dad for two weeks. 

What she was not expecting, however, was a girl to open the hotel door, wearing one of Stiles’ shirts. 

Her mouth dropped open, and to the girl’s credit, she looked equally surprised as well. 

“Oh god,” the mystery girl said. “You’re Stiles’ girlfriend. I swear to God, this is not how it looks and I know it looks  _ really, really _ bad.”

Lydia was still shell-shocked, completely at a loss for words. The girl noticed and nodded guiltily. “Yeah, so I’m just going to go wait outside, and you can just,” she looked back into the room where Stiles was coming out of the suite living room, looking disheveled. “Yeah.”

The girl maneuvered past Lydia, grabbing her shoes on the way out, and walked out into the hallway. 

“Lydia,” Stiles said slowly, deliberately. “This is not what you think.” He said, walking up to her. “I swear to God I would never- “ He ran a hand through his hair. “That was our publicist’s daughter and she got too drunk with us last night and she couldn’t go home like that, so I offered her my room and I  _ swear to God _ I slept on the couch.” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, his voice cracking. “Nothing happened, you have to believe me.” 

“I believe you,” Lydia whispered. 

Stiles’ eyes widened. “You do?”

And she nodded. She really did believe him – Stiles was a lot of things, and he had been acting in ways she didn’t understand at all, but he would never cheat on her. That, Lydia was sure of. 

“Do you know what day it is?” She asked, rather than continue the conversation they were having. 

“Uh,” he looked upwards at the ceiling. “Sunday.” 

“It’s November 25 th .”

Realization set on his face and Lydia looked down. “No, no that’s not possible because yesterday was – Fuck, Lydia.” He took a step forward but Lydia held out a hand. 

“Stiles, I have excused  _ so much _ of your  behavior these last two months.” Her voice cracked too, but she was determined not to cry in front of him. Not right then. Not when he had made her cry too many times in too few months. “But this? I thought we could count on you for this  _ one thing _ .” 

He opened his mouth to say something, his eyes shifting from the side of the room, back to her eyes. Deciding better than to offend her further, apparently, he closed his mouth again. Lydia opted not to continue, just glaring at him, almost  _ daring _ him to make an excuse. 

But then she noticed it. His dilated pupils, runny nose, and bags under his eyes – her eyes shifted downward to his hands, where he was tapping his fingers on his thighs. 

“Oh my God,” Lydia whispered. “You’re  _ high _ .” 

The tapping on his thighs stopped and he brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his forehead. “Lydia-” 

“No,” she interrupted. “The third anniversary of  _ my best friend's death  _ was last night and you were what? Too  _ high _ on coke to come mourn with us?” The volume of her voice was rising with every word she said and she could swear she had never been so furious in her life.

To his credit, he looked thoroughly guilty and defeated. His shoulders shrunk down and he collapsed onto the couch. “Lydia, -”

“You know, Stiles, it wasn’t just me who cried last night over you. Your best friend,  _ your brother _ , had to mourn the loss of his first love without you Stiles, and for what?” Lydia demanded. She quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen on her face, betraying her determination to not show him the effect he had on her. Not that it mattered – he had stopped looking her in the eye in favor of resting his head in his hands instead. 

Feeling less angry and more exhausted, she sighed and perched herself delicately on the armchair across from him. “Scott and I weren’t just mourning the loss of Allison last night.” She said softly. “It felt like we were also mourning the loss of you.”

He lifted his head from his hands, and she could see how red his eyes had become – how destroyed her words had made him feel.  _ Good, _ the vindictive part of her felt. But mostly she felt destroyed too. 

“I can count, on one hand, the number of months we’ve been together. But you’ve been my best friend for a lot longer than that, Stiles.” With shaking hands, she took the arrow ring off her right ring finger and placed it on the table in front of her, acutely aware that Stiles was watching with bated breaths. “But right now? Right now, Stiles, I don’t even know you.”

With that, Lydia stood up, despite her shaking legs and burning eyes. She made her way slowly to the door, stopping only when she heard his voice. 

“So that’s it then? We’re just over?”

The sound of his voice made her want to turn around and run into his arms, crying as she let him hold her. But she can’t because he was not the same person that she kissed at the house party five months before. He had broken his promise to her because he wasn’t the same boy she fell in love with. She hated him for it. 

It took all the strength she had to straighten herself and continue out the door, leaving him sitting on the couch with tears in his eyes, because Lydia Martin was  _ done _ crying over boys. She most  certainly was not going to cry over him again. 

And she didn’t. She didn’t cry when she got into the elevator, didn’t cry when she stepped into the lobby, didn’t cry when she walked past a gaggle of teenage girls waiting for the band, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she did so. 

(She knew they saw the smudged mascara under her eyes. She tried to ignore the way they tried to subtly snap a picture of her, though.)

No, it was only when she was halfway back to Beacon Hills that she started to cry.  So, she pulled off the nearest exit, found an empty parking lot, and sobbed. 

When she lifted her head up, it was dark outside. 

***

She didn’t have to explain to Scott what happened between her and Stiles in San Francisco. She didn’t have to explain why she wasn’t answering any of Stiles’ texts or calls. She didn’t have to explain why he eventually stopped sending them either. 

She knew that Stiles had called Scott after she left and apologized for what happened, and that he was still angry too, but he also was acutely aware that Stiles would not have been able to handle both Scott and Lydia ignoring him, so Scott – as always – took the high road.

She didn’t have to explain to Malia or Kira, either, when she drove the group to the movies during winter break in Beacon Hills, why she promptly changed the radio station in her car when Stiles’ song came on. She didn’t miss the look that passed between the two of them when she did, though. Scott sent her a glance from his spot in the passenger's seat, and she pressed her lips together in a thin smile. 

“I was sick of that song.” She simply said, pressing slightly harder on the gas pedal as she drove down the deserted main road. 

***

Lydia spent her Christmas morning curled up on her couch, scrolling through her phone. She and her mom had just finished opening presents, and Ms. Martin was in the kitchen, whipping up a holiday brunch. 

She knew her mother was just trying to cheer her up – it was exactly a month since she broke up with Stiles, and the Christmas gift she had picked out for him was still laying unwrapped in her closet. Lydia didn’t want to think of Stiles, though, because every time she picked up her phone it seemed like  _ somebody _ was talking about Stiles Stilinksi, America’s newest heartthrob and guitarist extraordinaire of overnight indie-rock sensation, The Crowd. 

She rolled her eyes at the thought. She had also pointedly stopped watching the Snapchat stories from Cosmo and Seventeen ever since they started previewing stories like  _ Swipe up to find out if your perfect match is Jeremy, Stiles, Elliot, or Jack  _ at the beginning of the month.

(She got Jack. What did they know about Stiles’ perfect girl anyways?) 

Instead, she went on Instagram and posted a picture of herself, Scott, Kira, and Malia at a Christmas party from a week prior with an  inauthentically bubbly caption. And it was absolutely not, Lydia determined, because Stiles still followed her private account and she wanted to make him jealous. That would be petty. 

Looking at the carefully edited photo of herself and her friends, she felt the beginnings of a smile form on her lips. Even though the loss of Stiles still hurt her every single day, it comforted her to know that they were all in the same boat. 

That comfort disappeared as soon as she went on her Explore page, and the first photo she saw was, inexplicably, of her and Stiles. The picture was from his album release party at the end of September. It had been one of their best weeks since he had moved – he seemed more himself than he had in a while, cracking jokes and telling dramatized stories of his time in LA to herself, Scott, Kira, and Malia all of whom had flown down to the city for the occasion. They looked happy in the picture, dressed semi-formal and gazing at each other with soft eyes and large smiles. She almost smiled in spite of herself.

But u pon further inspection, she noticed it had a paper rip photoshopped between the two of them. Smile dropping, her eyes flew to the photo’s caption. 

_ Popular guitarist of  _ The Crowd _ , Stiles  _ _ Stilinksi _ _ and his girlfriend,  _ Stanford  _ sophomore Lydia _ _ Martin, have split after just five months of dating, sources tell us. Bad news for the couple, but a welcome surprise to fans of the new bachelor who have been speculating of the couples’ split since before Thanksgiving. _

Lydia threw her phone across the room in anger, thankfully landing on the armchair beside the Christmas tree. She never  _ asked _ for the failures in her love-life to be plastered all over the Instagram feed of E-Online, thank you very much. She especially never asked for a million eighteen-year-olds to be rooting for the downfall of her relationship, or cheering when it ended. 

Her mother came out of the kitchen at that moment with two plates in hand, topped with delicious-looking avocado eggs benedict, but upon seeing Lydia’s phone on the other side of the room, Natalie sent a concerned glance to her daughter. 

“ It's fine mom,” Lydia smiled. Eager to change the subject, Lydia took a deep breath. “Can we eat? I’m dying to devour this benny.”

Later that night, when they gathered at Scott’s house, she couldn’t help but to notice the Sheriff, with bags under his eyes and lines on his face that weren’t there the day his son left for Los Angeles. They laughed over dinner and the adults even begrudgingly gave Malia, Kira, herself, and Scott a bottle of wine to split. 

But there was an elephant in the room. The table had more space that night than in years past, there was an extra chair pressed haphazardly against the wall, and Chris Argent was no longer the only  parent not accompanied by a child. 

When Scott told her that Noah had spent the morning at their place, she rolled her eyes.  _ He hadn’t even come home to spend Christmas with his dad _ , she thought. 

Briefly, Lydia wondered what he was doing – was he spending the day alone, or was his Christmas spent in bed? Shaking the thought out of her head, Lydia decided she no longer cared. 

(At least, she tried.)

***

She kissed someone when the clock struck midnight on  New Year’s Eve . 

Lydia didn’t know him at all – she had been dancing with him briefly in the minutes before midnight and she just pulled him in for a kiss because he was the closest person to her. 

She hadn’t expected to kiss anyone that night. She, actually, hadn’t even planned on going to a New Year’s party to begin with, initially declining Scott when he told her about the party his friend from Davis was throwing. But then she saw  _ him  _ on the cover of one of those trashy tabloids as she was in line to buy herself snacks for that night, his head down from the flashes and a girl holding his hand coming out of a nightclub. 

She promptly texted Scott, telling him she was getting drunk that night and to pick her up at nine. 

Lydia took two shots alone in the dark before Scott and Kira arrived. He didn’t ask why she had decided to come out of the blue, which was good because she  _ really _ didn’t want to talk about it. 

But then she kissed this random boy and it felt so  _ wrong _ so she excused herself and, amongst the celebrations of the year 2016, she grabbed her coat and left. She saw Scott and Kira, briefly, on her way out, nursing their drinks and chatting in the kitchen. Lydia made eye contact with Scott before looking down and brushing the tears out of her eyes, opening the front door and walking down the pathway. 

She found herself sitting on the curb in front of the house, numbly listening to the music from inside the house. She felt pathetic – it had been over a month and she couldn’t even kiss a boy without feeling guilty. 

It wasn’t long before Scott found her. He sat down next to her on the curb, not saying a word. 

“You know,” she sniffled. “The last time I kissed someone and ran away was at your party at the beginning of June. I kissed Stiles and ran away because we were starting something right before he was leaving and he told me that there was never going to be a perfect time for us, and he was sick of wasting time waiting for it. He told me all he wanted was to be with me.” Lydia wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her coat and let out a wet laugh. “God, I’m so pathetic.”

Scott sighed. “Lyds, you know that’s not true.” 

“Isn’t it though?” She turned her head to look at him. “The reason I came with you guys tonight was because I saw a picture of Stiles on a magazine with another girl and I thought I could distract myself. But I can’t. I can’t even  _ kiss  _ another boy without thinking about  _ him _ and it  _ sucks _ because he doesn’t care anymore.” She let a tear fall from her eyes to the road below her.

“That’s not fair, Lydia.” Scott whispered. “ Of  _ course _ he cares. I don’t think he could ever stop caring about you, to be honest. Stiles just isn’t himself right now.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes. “What if this  _ is _ him now, Scott?” 

Scott had nothing to say at that, apparently, so they sat in silence, watching as people stumbled out of the house and into waiting Ubers. 

It had been over a month, and technically  _ she _ had ended it with  _ him _ but her heart still felt heavy. This was supposed to be her first holidays  _ with _ Stiles and instead she’s sitting in the cold, sad and drunk outside a random house party while Stiles was probably at some celebrity’s apartment, drinking expensive champagne and doing god-knows-what. 

It was a far cry from last year, when the five of them sat on Lydia’s couch and watched New Year’s  Rockin ’ Eve, creating random drinking games every ten minutes and getting drunk before the ball actually dropped. And when midnight hit, and they all popped champagne and blew their party horns, Stiles had gently kissed her on the cheek and told her he  _ couldn’t wait to spend the new year with you,  _ _ Lyds _ _.  _

God, she needed another drink. 

“He still writes songs about you, you know?” Scott broke the silence, letting his Vans-covered feet scrape the road. When she didn’t say anything, he let out a small chuckle. “Actually, all the songs he writes are about you.” 

“Well why can’t he just  _ be here _ ?” She finally allowed. 

“Give it time, Lydia.” He murmured, putting his arm around her. 

Lydia didn’t know if he was talking about her heartbreak or Stiles. 

***

Lydia woke up on New Year's Day with puffy eyes, a hangover, and two missed texts from Stiles. She checked the time stamps; one was from 3:30am California time, the other was from just two minutes before she woke up. 

_ Lsyis _ _ I miss  _ _ yuo _ _ so  _ _ mcuh _ _ but I  _ _ fuckesd _ _ it up.  _ _ Im _ _ messed up  _ _ rn _ _ but u  _ _ were _ __ _ righgt _ __ _ im _ _ an  _ _ asshloe _ __ _ nd _ _ I  _ _ nevre _ __ _ deservd _ _ yiu  _ _ nd _ _ it sucks  _ _ bc _ __ _ im _ _ in love w u an I tried to  _ _ freoget _ _ u but ur unforgettable.  _

She scrolled down and read the next one. 

_ Wow,  _ _ im _ _ so sorry you had to read that. I was obviously pretty wasted so just  _ _ disregard _ _ that I guess.  _

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from sober-Stiles, but  _ just _ an apology for his drunk-text wasn’t it. She was expecting him to acknowledge what he said – acknowledge that he had fucked up and maybe,  _ just maybe _ , admit that he missed her as much as she did him. 

But instead, she got two sentences. 

As she was reading his message, a new message bubble popped up. He probably saw she read his message.

_ I know you probably want to tell me to lose your number, and I wouldn’t blame you if you did.  _

_ But for what it’s worth, I meant what I said last night.  _

_ And I’m so sorry. _

She locked her phone. 

***

She managed to make it through Valentine’s day with minimal heartbreak by throwing herself into her homework. She strategically deleted Instagram, and avoided looking anywhere but straight ahead in grocery store line-ups. 

But every once and a while she’d return to her texts with Stiles, staring at the last one he had sent that never got a reply. 

_ And I’m so sorry _ . 

She wished that wasn’t enough. She wished she was strong enough to stand her ground, to hate him for what he did to her, to Scott, to his friends, to his  _ dad _ . But Lydia knew, deep down, that if he stood in front of her with open arms and said those exact words, she would forgive him in a hearbeat. 

And she kind of hated herself for that. 

So, she locked her phone like she always did, placing it face-down on her desk, and returned to her work. 

***

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lydia muttered as the wheel to her suitcase jammed. She had just ten days until classes resumed for Spring quarter and all she wanted to do was to get home to Beacon Hills as quickly as possible because she was just annoyed at how much the Stanford campus reminded her of Stiles. 

It pissed her off to no end, as well, because school was always the one  thing she could count on consistently to bring her comfort but instead all it did was resurface painful memories of  _ him _ . Leave it to Stiles to, despite being largely absent at that moment, worm his way into every part of her life. 

Deciding better than to try and fix her suitcase wheel in the middle of the sidewalk leading to the parking lot, she lifted it off the ground and stumbled in the direction of where she thought Scott might be waiting for her to bring her back to Beacon Hills. They decided, since Davis’ classes finished around the same time hers did, that Scott would pick her up from Stanford on the way back to Beacon Hills since he was already picking Kira up from Berkeley. 

But when she got to the parking lot outside her dorm, Scott’s mom’s car was nowhere in sight. She squinted her eyes and checked her watch. 1:40pm, ten minutes after Scott said he would be there. 

Lydia had to do a double take when she saw it – the light blue Jeep parked in a corner spot. She blinked hard, but when she opened her eyes again it was still there. She thought that there was no way it was him – he was supposed to be on tour and there are probably a thousand people in California with a vintage blue Jeep and  _ besides, _ he drove a Tesla now anyways. 

But then she leaned down to wrap her bag around the handle of the suitcase and someone blocked the sun above her and when she looked up it was  _ him _ . 

At first, she thought it was her mind playing tricks on her; she was seeing things that weren’t there because she saw a Jeep that looked like his. 

But then he spoke. 

“Uh,” he scratched the side of his face as Lydia slowly stood. “Need a ride back home?”

“Pass.” She snapped. “Scott’s supposed to be here soon anyways.” Lydia was proud of herself – she had to admit that she wasn’t sure she would be able to reach into her arsenal of snarky comments when she inevitably saw him again. But she did and for that, Lydia gave herself a mental pat on the back. 

Breaking out of her own head, she finally sized him up and down out of the corner of her eye. It had been nearly four months since she’d seen him last and from the neck down, he looked incredible. His shirt was loose, but she could still see the way it pulled over his shoulders, the way it drew her eyes to his biceps which she  _ swore _ were not that big when she saw him last. 

But his face betrayed all of that. He looked pale, his eyes had red circles around them and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. 

“Actually,” he chuckled nervously. “I’m kind of your ride home now.” 

Lydia was going to  _ kill _ Scott when they got home. “I guess I have no choice then.” She muttered, picking her bag up off her suitcase. Stiles started to reach for her suitcase handle, but she snatched it before he got the chance. “I can do that myself.” 

They started to walk over to the Jeep, Lydia taking careful steps forwards and ensuring to keep at least a six-foot distance between herself and Stiles. 

“I uh, I sold the Tesla.” He said, opening the back trunk and lifting her suitcase in. Lydia was already working her way into the  passenger's seat, still clutching her shoulder bag to her chest. 

_ Clearly,  _ she thought. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. 

It wasn’t until they had left the Stanford campus that her curiosity got the best of her. “Why?” She asked. When he looked confused at the delayed follow-up to a statement that he, apparently, didn’t remember making, she clarified. “Why did you sell the Tesla?” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted. “I think...... I think I never felt like myself when I drove it. I felt like an imposter.” She didn’t ask him to elaborate, and so they drive on in silence. 

But silence was never Stiles’ forte. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” She didn’t acknowledge him, continuing to look out the window at the Palo Alto scenery. “I mean like, aren’t you wondering why I’m here and not on tour?” 

Lydia rolled her eyes, but didn’t turn to face him. “I stopped wondering why you are or aren’t around a long time ago.”

“Alright,” he  conceded . “ So I haven’t been exactly  _ reliable _ lately -”

“Reliable?” Here, she did turn to face him, if only to give him a glare she hoped was so deadly that she struck the fear of God in him. “Not being  _ reliable _ is forgetting to call me back.  _ You _ left Scott and I on our own on the toughest day of the year  _ when we needed you most _ .” Lydia all but yelled. “Scott may have forgiven you for that, but I haven’t.”

Stiles glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, grimacing slightly. “Yeah, well, Scott hasn’t forgiven me. He says he has to make me feel better but I know he hasn’t.” He did a quick check over his left shoulder and, much to Lydia’s surprise, pulled into a parking lot. “Which is why the band is going on hiatus after the tour.” 

Lydia looked over to him and opened her mouth to speak, but Stiles beat her to it. 

“Just let me talk, okay?” He asked gruffly. “I really need to say this, Lydia, because I haven’t been myself for a long time and I need to apologize.” He circled the lot until they arrived on the rooftop, where he chose the corner-most spot. Once Stiles secured the parking  brake and turned off the engine, he ran a hand over his noticeably longer hair. “I need to be here to make things right with you guys. I’ve spent the last three months thinking I can leave Beacon Hills behind, but that godforsaken town is what keeps me sane.  _ You  _ keep me sane.”

“And how, exactly, did you come to this conclusion?” Lydia muttered and try as she might, she was unable to keep the ice from her voice as she looked at him wearily. 

Stiles, however, hadn’t taken his eyes off the view of the city in front of him. “I did a lot of shitty things in the Fall.” He simply stated. Lydia fought the urge to roll her eyes, because  _ yeah, no shit _ . Instead, she waited for him to finish. “You had every right to break up with me – I sure as Hell deserved it. But,  _ shit _ , it wrecked me. The night before we broke up,” he shot her a sideways glance. “That was the first time I ever tried cocaine. But after, it was like every night I lost my mind, over and over again. 

“On Valentine's Day, I hit rock bottom. I remember waking up that morning and hating myself for fucking everything up and losing everyone. I hated myself for being alone. The next thing I remember is waking up on February 15th, next to my bed, with no recollection of the last 24 hours.”

Stiles swipes another hand across his stubble and looks to Lydia. “If you wanted sympathy, Stiles-” She spoke in a quiet but hard voice, until Stiles interrupted.

“Ah, close, but not quite.” She could almost see the corners of his mouth turn upwards, but as quickly as the smile came, it was gone. “My point is, I walked into the bathroom that morning and I couldn’t recognize the person in the mirror. I had already hit rock bottom, but I could never face the fact that I was falling in the first place. And that’s when I decided I needed a break.”

For the first time, nearly ever, Lydia was at a loss for words. It frustrated her – she didn’t know if she was happy to hear he was trying to take care of himself, or angry at him for coming back and leaving her to help him put himself back together. Or, heaven help her, angry at herself for being willing to do so. 

“I’m not telling you this because I want you back.” He clarified, as if he had a free-pass to her innermost thoughts. “I mean, I  _ do _ , but I’m still really fucking messed up – I'm not ready to get back to how we were, not until I can pull myself together.”

She almost let herself smile. He may still look like Stiles on the outside, but she knew the boy inside had grown up a lot since that night at Scott’s. “So, now what?” Lydia wondered aloud. 

He let out a breath of air, his cheeks inflating as he did so. “Well, we finished out the rest of our tour, per our contract, and now the four of us are renting a house in San Francisco, where I will also be meeting with a counsellor twice a week.”

Lydia couldn’t help but grin a little hearing that.  _ So _ _ he’s taking this seriously, huh?  _ “The four of you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged. “We’re  gonna spend the next year working on an album, really taking our time on it. Apparently, the guys didn’t believe the hype either.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and gave the slightest grin.

_ “ _ Well,” Lydia said, carefully relaxing the slightest bit in the passenger's seat. “For what it’s worth, I think that’s a good choice.” Her voice remained even, despite her heart doing somersaults in her chest.  _ Traitor, _ she thought. “But I need time, Stiles. I can’t sit here with you right now and tell you all is forgiven because that would be a lie.” 

“And Lydia Martin doesn’t lie.” Stiles replied with a soft, genuine smile before turning his gaze back out the windshield. “No, I get it. I have amends I need to make with a lot of people and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, or even at all.” He looked down at his lap and gave the steering wheel a quick tap. “But I was hoping this would be a start.”

Tentatively, Lydia rested her hand on his forearm. Just for a moment – only there until she said what she needed. 

“It’s a start.” 

***

“I can’t do this, Lydia. I don’t even ..... What are the lyrics to my songs?” Stiles panicked, stumbling haphazardly around the too-small dressing room, nearly tripping over the leather sofa to his left. “Oh my god, I don’t even know where my guitar is, Lydia! I need that, I can’t, -” Lydia interrupted him by firmly planting both hands on his cheeks.

“Stiles. Calm down.” She ordered. “You’ve played to crowds ten times this size. You’re fine.” Stiles nodded quickly and Lydia’s shoulders relaxed. Situation diffused. 

But then his nod turned into a quick headshake and his eyes widened slightly. “I’m  gonna throw up, oh my god.” Lydia groaned as he continued his frantic search for his will to perform, counting the Red Bull cans on the coffee table and cursing herself for not better monitoring the drink table. 

Lydia took a look around the small dressing room – painted a dark red with dark, leather couches and a  scratched up coffee table – and felt herself smile. It was awfully reminiscent of the dressing rooms in the smaller venues they would play, eerily similar to the one in the House of Blues over a year ago. She couldn’t help but think of everything that happened in that short period of time, how everyone in the room was different now. 

Kira and Malia caught her eyes as they signaled to her that it was time for them to head back out into the crowd. 

Scott lifted himself from the couch. “That’s our cue,” he announced, heading towards Stiles and giving him a quick hug before making his way out the door with Kira and Malia. “Knock ‘ em dead kid!” Scott called over his shoulder. 

Lydia turned back to Stiles and gave him one last reassuring smile. “You’re going to do great. And if you start feeling nervous on stage, just picture everyone naked.” 

With a wink, she made a move to turn around, but Stiles gently grabbed her wrist to stop her. Giving her a cheeky smile, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug, looking down at her. “Remember when we dated?” He asked with a tilt of his head and a grin. 

Lydia returned his smile. “Vaguely.” 

Later, as she was in the audience and they were halfway through their set, Stiles stepped up to the mic with a look she knew was reserved for her. 

“I, uh, wrote this next song for the person who I think about in my darkest times, who can pull me out of the water when I feel like I’m drowning.” Nervously, Stiles strummed his guitar a few times. “She’s my person. So, um, this is  _ Lydia _ .”

Lydia couldn’t hold her smile as the unfamiliar lyrics and melody filled her ears and heart. It was still Stiles and  Lydia, it had always been. Two sides of the same coin; best friends, soulmates, tethers. 

Stiles stepped up to sing the chorus, finding her eyes, and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he sung, either. 

Maybe, Lydia let herself think, she was starting to believe the hype. 

_but you'll be just fine, just don't believe the hype._

**Author's Note:**

> please make sure to toss me a kudos or comment if ya liked it :)


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